


castle on the hill

by turnupfortrash



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Arranged Marriage, Childhood, Developing Friendships, F/M, Non-explicit mentions of death/torture/violence, Sandor has had a rough life okay?, Series of Vignettes, Song fic, Sort Of, Strong Sansa Stark, Timeline What Timeline, Whump, again the timeline means nothing here, characters aged up AND aged down, quotes taken from the book randomly and used as i want
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-25
Updated: 2020-01-25
Packaged: 2021-02-26 09:07:52
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 10,707
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22403788
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/turnupfortrash/pseuds/turnupfortrash
Summary: Sandor Clegane was 6 years old when his life changed for the first time. Sadly for him, it wasn't for the better. As time progressed things never quite seemed to look up, but he had a goal in mind.Sandor Clegane, was going to survive.AKA 5 times life was shitty for Sandor and then one time where things actually worked out pretty well.
Relationships: Sandor Clegane/Sansa Stark
Comments: 16
Kudos: 47





	1. Sandor age 6

**Author's Note:**

> OKAY SO I WROTE A THING  
Depression is a bitch and that life long struggle of trying to actually produce a thing is REAL. Also recently diagnosed with ADHD and honestly things make a lot more sense.  
ADHD research though lead me down some great wormholes (yay for pomodoros) and I was actually able to be productive and finish this fic I've been writing for about a year based on the time an Ed Sheeran song came on the radio and all I could think about was Sansan so I dictated a note to Siri outlining the general plot.
> 
> This story is technically COMPLETE but I'll be posting the chapters one at a time over the next little bit so that I can check them out one last time for errors. 
> 
> ENJOY

Sandor Clegane was six years old when his life changed for the first time. He had been running from his brother and his friends for most of the day before finally finding a hiding spot. Years of experience with this so called game had taught him to hide where his brother would least expect him. Most days that tended to be his brother’s room. It was the largest room in Clegane Keep, larger than even the one his parents slept in. His father had declared just a fortnight before that it was to be Gregor’s. Sandor rolled his eyes, even at his age, he could tell what a pushover his father was. Nothing was the same since his mother had passed but at least he had Eleanor for company. He did his best to keep his brother’s attention, to keep it off her. Seven only knew what would happen if Gregor put his attention on her. She was so much smaller than them, taking more after their mother than they did. They were only a few seasons apart and, truth be told, Eleanor was the only member of his family that Sandor truly cared for. 

Wandering around the room, Sandor took in his brother’s new master bedroom. He had a sitting room with a few chairs and an empty writing table. In the bedroom, there was a roaring fireplace, a large canopy bed, and a cabinet by the open window. Curious at what might be in the cabinet, Sandor approached it and opened the door. Not paying much attention to the creaking of the door, Sandor’s attention was immediately drawn to the large wooden knight that was thrown in on a pile of cloth. 

The knight was painted with bright detailed colours and each of his limbs moved on its own, including the hand holding the great sword. Bringing it with him, Sandor went to sit on the carpet by the light of the fire so that he could take in all the details. It wasn’t long before appreciation turned to play and Sandor lost himself in the great story of the brave knight who defeated all his enemies and set off to rescue the fair damsel in distress. His head was so full of thoughts of Ser Sandor and his beautiful bride that he didn’t hear the sound of the door opening. Nor did he hear the sound of his brother’s steps crossing the room. Sandor didn’t hear anything until it was far too late for him to run. Gregor grabbed him by the scruff of his shirt and, without a shred of emotion crossing his face, pushed Sandor’s face into the flames. 

***

It was weeks before Sandor awoke and began to recognize the passage of time. His entire being hurt, hurt more than any of the broken noses or limbs from years gone past. His face felt like it was on fire still, like his head would just melt and slide right off his neck and that would be the end of him. Sandor wanted his sister, he wanted Eleanor with him. How else was he supposed to make it through this pain without his sister beside him? He asked the maester, he asked his father, hells he even asked the serving girl who brought him water. No one would give him an answer, and no one would give him Eleanor. A week had passed before Sandor dragged himself out of bed in the dead of night and stalked off towards the room he and his sister shared. When he arrived it was empty. Sandor sped up, running from room to room as fast as his wounded body would let him. It finally led him outside, back behind the keep where the stables were and the large oak tree resided. Below the tree, he knew there was a small marker for his mother's remains, what Sandor wasn’t expecting was a second marker placed beside it. He stumbled over and collapsed in front of the simple carved stone marker. 

_ Eleanor _ . 

The tears began to fall quicker than Sandor could handle and he let out a cry, a roar so animalistic and loud the horses startled. It was there that the maester found him and it was there that his life as he knew it changed for the worse. 


	2. Sandor age 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A Prince is born and a promise for marriage is arranged

It was just before his twelfth name day that the babe was born. Queen Cersei had the child while holed up at Casterly Rock, having visited her brother and father before her time set upon her. The whole keep and surrounding areas were in the midst of a huge celebration. The first little prince was born. Nobels from across the realm traveled to the Rock to meet the royal spawn. Sandor himself couldn’t be arsed, more focused on his training than anything else. Even at the age of near twelve, Sandor Clegane was much larger than any of the older boys. Easily knocking them back with his practice sword through both skill and, of course, mass. Still, it surprised him when he was called to the Queen’s chambers. Not having much contact with the Queen since she had left to marry the king a few short years before. 

He arrived at her sitting room and was let in by the guard at the door. Sandor was thankful it wasn’t his brother, knowing that Gregor was far away in Kings Landing guarding the king gave him a certain amount of joy. When he entered the room, Cersei was sitting and she beckoned him closer. He stood at attention, not wanting her ire. 

“I hear they call you the Hound in the training yard,” She seemed to begrudgingly look him over. “Why is that?”

“Because I’m the best fighter out of all of them, because when I fight I’m like a dog with a bone. I don’t give up, even if it means my death.” Sandor said, plainly and clearly. Almost forgetting what little manners he had, “Your grace.” 

Queen Cersei seemed to finish looking him over, she nodded, content with what she had found. 

“You are to be my sons' protector, his shadow and his shield. You will return to King's Landing with me three moons time.” 

“But your grace, I think that…” Sandor started, trying to think of a reason to get out of heading to the capital. Of heading towards his brother. 

“You think that this is a great honour, you should be thanking me not thinking,” Cersei said with a glare. “You’re dismissed.” 

Sandor nodded before shuffling out of the room. He strode directly towards the stables, straight to the back where the bales were kept. It was a place of solace for him, due solely to the lack of other people. 

Drawing the practice sword he kept strapped to his waist, Sandor took to hacking at the stacks of bales. 

“Dumb fucking royal cunts with their stupid fucking plans” 

Years of training meant that even mid tirade he still swung around at the sound of a shocked gasp behind him. A tall girl, probably just past her tenth name day, was staring at him as she hung on to the reins of her horse. Her startled gasp was what prompted him to turn but her unbridled staring at his scars is what prompted him to anger. 

“What the fucking hell do you want? Didn’t your bloody Septa teach you not to stare?” 

“I...I wasn’t…” the girl stammered. For a moment she seemed ready to run but then seems to steel herself. “I apologize Ser, you’re right, it is rude to stare.”

“I’m not no bloody Ser.” Sandor snorted, sheathing his sword. “I’m the fucking Hound.” 

Her eyes narrow and her chin lifts, “There is no need to be so uncouth.”

She reminds him of a small bird, her feathers all aflutter. Sandor’s about to mockingly say as much when they hear a voice call out questioningly.

“Young Lady Stark? Young Lady Stark?!”

The angry little bird in front of him seems to disappear as she takes a deep breath.

“I must apologize once again, the fault lies entirely with me for intruding on your space. I bid you good day, Ser.” The Little Bird gathers her skirts and leaves. 

He watches as she walks towards the older septa who had been calling out across the yard. A young lady then, probably a daughter of one of the Lords visiting the new prince. She seemed to have spirit, Sandor thought bitterly, something she would need if she was to be fed to the wolves that passed for high society. 

***

Sandor was called to Lannister hall later that day. When he entered he saw that instead of the typical regal dais and chair, a long table had been moved into the space. At the head of the table sat Lord Lannister himself, on his right side sat the Queen and on his left sat a familiar face Lord Stark of Winterfell. With a glare from Queen Cersei, Sandor moved to stand behind her and the young babe. Across from him, he could now see what must be Lady Stark, a babe in her arms as well and beside her sat the prim and proper Little Bird. 

“Now, the King is insisting on this match due to the long-standing relationship between houses Baratheon and Stark.” Cersei began, not looking overly enthused about the conversation thus far nor his interruption. She has a sour, vaguely angry look, as she continues. “We’ll need to arrange the betrothal announcement, it will be in five years hence. Your family will come to the capital and the betrothal will be made in the Sept of Baelor, however, until then the girl will be kept pure.”

Lady Stark blustered at that, clutching her chest.

“Of course, my Queen.” Lord Stark quickly replies. “You do our family a great honour with this match. Sansa will do her duty to her family and to the crown.”

The little bird stammers out a reply, “Of course, Father.”

They start to discuss specifics of dowry and how the pair will spend their time as they grow and Sandor begins to tune them out. His eyes track the girl as she seems to be doing the same. She stares at her hands folded neatly in her lap, no sign of the fierce little bird he had met earlier. He snorted quietly to himself, right now she reminded him more of those talking birds. Parroting back all that her parents wanted her to say. He’s not sure why he’s surprised, they’re all the same.

***

She comes to see him off. Sandor’s readying his horse, preparing Stranger for the long ride to King’s Landing with the Royal procession. He can feel someone standing behind him and is somehow surprised to see that it’s the girl once again. 

“I wanted to come to wish you well before you begin your journey to King’s Landing.”

Sandor snorts, turning back to his horse. “What, you going to give me your favour too?” 

He hears the rustle of her dress brushing against the straw floor of the stables. For some reason she moves closer to him, standing just in front of Stranger. Sandor makes to warn her, tell her to keep her hands away from his temperamental beast, but she surprises him as she very gently reaches out to pat his muzzle. Stranger seems as surprised as Sandor is and allows it, going so far as to move his head closer to the girl. With a hand on his horse, she turns to him.

“When I come to visit the prince in five years' time, will you be there?”

Sandor’s hands tighten on the reins, “Aye.”

“Then I look forward to when we meet again,” the Little Bird chirps.

With a sigh, Sandor begins to pull Stranger away. “You’d do better to save those sentiments for your betrothed.”

Sandor leaves the stables, leaving the Little Bird behind him. No reason to encourage her, the kindest thing he can do for the girl is to leave her be. She has her whole life mapped out ahead of her and it isn’t likely to include being friendly with the guards. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm realizing that Sandor doesn't curse as much in this AU as one would expect and that makes me sad.  
could I go back and change it? probably.  
am i most likely going to leave it as is because it somehow works for me? definitely


	3. Sandor age 16

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sandor lives in Kings Landing now. Prince Joffrey as a child is still Prince Joffrey and as for his brother Gregor... Well, he's still Gregor.

It’s been several years since Sandor has moved to King’s Landing to be the young Prince’s shadow. Always a few steps behind Prince Joffrey as he moved from lessons, to his royal duties, and to his  _ free time _ . Those last few hours of his evenings began to be the ones Sandor dreaded the most. He stood silently in the royal dining hall, watching as the Queen doted on the Prince even as she rested a hand on her swollen stomach. All day he watched as people tried to teach him, tried to show him what would be expected of him as he grew older. He stood silently as their messages flew over his head, as he laughed and did the opposite of what they asked. All day he watched as Prince Joffrey created trouble and blamed it on those around him, watched as they were quietly sent away lest they face the wrath of the Queen. As the evening approached he followed as the young Prince slipped into the armory, taking his father's hunting traps and bringing them into the courtyard. In the Godswood he placed them about, checking on the ones from the day before. Sandor cringed internally as he poked at prodded at the trapped corpses. Sandor was silent as he passed the requested knife to the young Prince. Sandor was silent a lot these days. 

It was nearing Prince Joffrey’s fifth nameday and the official presentation of his betrothal to the eldest Stark girl. Sandor hadn’t thought about her in the years that had passed, or at least that’s what he told himself. Sandor was heading towards the Street of Silk for a drink and a distraction when he saw her. The carriage riding past him, the flash of red hair. He stopped in his tracks, surely it couldn’t be her already. Surely it wasn’t already time for him to stand silently as that innocent girl meets the hellspawn that is the Prince. Sandor turns and covertly follows the carriage, watching it until it pulls to a stop at the gate. The girl takes the hand of the coachman as she steps down to speak to the guards. It’s not her. Sandor breathes a sigh of relief, somehow happy knowing that she’s at least safe for a while longer. Just as he’s about to turn and head back towards his previous destination, a large hand yanks him from his shadowy hiding spot. 

“What do we have here? A little whelp hiding away in the shadows?” the cruel voice of his brother surrounds him as he’s dropped to the ground. 

Sandor stands and makes an attempt to ignore Gregor, stepping around him and trying to make a break for it. Of course, Gregor doesn’t let him get away that easily. 

“What are you doing hiding in the shadows, taking a peek at one of the fat bastards royal mistresses?” Gregor asks with a sneer as he gestures rudely to the young woman, now covered with a dark cloak, being led into the keep. “Looking for some scraps there, boy?” 

“Fuck off.” It’s pretty much the only words he’s spoken to his brother since they both began to live in the same city once more, both a curse and a dismissal. Sandor tried to leave again and this time Gregor lets him. Lets him walk away as he walks the familiar route towards the Street of Silk. 

He’s been this way many times, though as of yet he hasn’t actually gone into any of the establishments. The girls too fine, too soft, for the likes of him. Tonight, however, is different. Sandor goes in and approaches the old maid sitting in the corner. He drops a bag of coin on her table.

“There’s more of this to come if you find me a redhead that can tolerate the sight of the Hound.” 

Turns out coin can convince a number of people to turn the other way from his scarred mug. He has his choice of a few and they retreat together to one of the rooms. She barely touches him and in the end, it’s hardly better than taking himself in his own hand. Sandor leaves two bags of coins lighter and with a heart that’s heavy. Still, he thinks about going back. At least until he finds the body. Tossed into the gutter alongside the scraps and swill from last evening's meal. The young girl, the King's mistress, still wrapped up in that damn cloak. Her throat was slashed and the blood that seeped through her cloak tells him that the other wounds are simply hidden. There’s no way the fat oaf is responsible, the only other possibility is... Sandor races into the keep, throwing the door to the guards room open. 

His brother stands there, cleaning the blood from his sword as the others laugh around him. Sandor can only hear bits of the story but the message is clear to him, Gregor killed the girl. Was it because he caught Sandor looking? Or was this at the order of the King? There’s no way to be sure but it makes Sandor’s stomach twist at the thought of the girl back at the brothel. The one he had planned to return to the next night, to try again and see if he’s finally able to feel something since coming to this sick town. Sandor backs quickly back out into the hall, barely reaching his small room before he hurls into the chamber pot by his bed. What is he to do if Gregor is killing anyone even remotely attached to him? What is he to do if he’s stuck by himself in this gods forsaken town? Is he going to become one of them? Cruel and harsh, unable to look beyond the orders given to him by whatever fucking master he has that day. It feels like something inevitable to Sandor, this darkness creeping up behind him with no light in sight. Forced to watch as the Prince becomes crueler and crueler, as the King drinks and whores away all his money, as his brother slaughters the innocent just for the hell of it. Forced to watch as that damned Stark girl is fed to the actual wolves disguised as lions. Sandor hurls again before flopping back onto his bed. He lays there for a while, tracking the sun as it rises higher into the sky. Knowing this means he’s soon due to join the royal family for lunch before he treks around after the young Prince once more. Another day just like the ones before. Another day like the ones to come.


	4. Sandor is 19

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Spring is in the air and Sansa finally makes her way to King's Landing

Sandor watches from the window as they arrive. It’s been nearly 7 years since he has seen her but he recognizes the flash of red hair, her perfect posture, and dainty hands as she gracefully steps down from her carriage. Her mother is with her and exits next, as well as another young girl. He stares freely at the whole procession, knowing that this is what’s expected of him as he escorts the royal family during this whole charade that is the formal greeting process. She has a gentle smile as she greets the King and Queen in turn, curtseying low like a proper lady. She’s grown taller, he reckons she would be barely a head shorter than him. The smell of new spring is in the air, all the snow that had kept them trapped in the North had finally melted away. Allowing for them to finally make the voyage south to announce the joining of families. They’re supposed to spend about a year here before returning North with Prince Joffrey so that he can squire under Lord Eddard but Sandor has been present for one too many conversations between the King and Queen that makes him doubt that will happen. The King is insistent on upholding traditions, the Queen insists that Joff is much too “delicate” and well the young Prince… well, he just does what he can to avoid any actual work. Even if that means working his mother up into a frenzy of overprotection. 

After all the formal excitement, the Stark women are escorted to the chambers they’ll be residing in. Sandor says nothing as he walks behind the prince, listening to him prattle on about all his supposed achievements. The Stark girl smiles politely and asks smart questions, knowing when to simply applaud him and when to ask for more details. She’s every bit the nobleman's daughter her father no doubt wanted her to be. The type of daughter fit to marry into the royal family and isn’t that what all noblemen want anyways. Prince Joffrey looks smug as he bends to kiss her hand, trying to stand tall so she doesn’t completely tower over him. After he says his goodbyes and promises to see her many times before their betrothal party in one month hence, he scurries to catch up with his mother. Sandor is about to stalk after him when a quiet voice stops him. 

“It’s nice to see you well, ser Sandor.” He stops to look at her, to truly look at her. She smiles, chirping up at him like the little bird she is. And for a moment, all he can see is that radiant smile. And then reality comes crashing down on him, and he remembers all that will come to pass if he forgets who he is now. 

“I ain’t no bloody ser.” He mutters as he quickly leaves to follow the royal family. 

***

Fucking Meryn takes his sweet time in coming to take over that evening. Clucking about all the news going around after the betrothal meal that night. Everyone is expecting Prince Joffrey to travel back with the Starks to Winterfell, and the royal wedding to follow soon after. Meryn is complaining about not wanting to go that far north, as far as Sandor’s concerned the cunt can freeze his fucking balls off at the wall for all he cares. Sandor ignores him as he leaves, heading for the kitchen to grab some food and a whole lot of wine. He heads to one of the few places he feels like he can actually be alone in this stupid city, the Godswood. No one goes there after dark, and those that do go in the day just tend to the gardens before continuing on their way. No one serves the old gods this far south, and Sandor is no exception though he doesn’t serve the new either. He sits under the tree and quickly stuffs his face with food so he can get onto the better part of his evening, getting completely shitfaced until he forgets about his stupid fucking life in King’s Landing. 

He quickly makes his way through the first wineskin and is making steady progress with the second when he sees her, sneaking through the garden and heading straight towards him. She looked exhausted. She doesn’t slip up often but a hound is more observant than most. Sandor thinks briefly up getting up to leave but his body feels warm and heavy with liquor and moving sounds like a chore. He can tell the exact moment she realizes he’s there because a mask descends on her face. There’s the little bird, ready to chirp her pleasantries. 

“My apologies Ser, I didn’t mean to interrupt your prayers.” She said demurely, with a small curtsey she turns to make her leave. 

“I ain’t praying and you didn’t interrupt shit…” Sandor sighs, wiping blindly at his face. “Look, do your prayers and don’t mind this old dog. I’ll be out of your hair soon enough.”

Sandor goes to move his things, putting the top on his wineskin and collecting the remnants of his meal. A small hand on top of his own stills him. 

“You don’t need to leave. Please, stay. I…” She pauses as her eyes dart around, almost appearing nervous. “I didn’t come here for my prayers, I completed those this morning with my family. I just needed… a break.”

Sandor snorts, “There are no breaks from the pomp and freaking circumstance that is this bloody city. You should know that better than most after tonight.”

Sansa sighs, sitting demurely on the bench near where he lay sprawled out on the floor. “I know this city is to be mine one day but it feels very odd to think of it as home. The people, the buildings, even the sky doesn't feel the same as Winterfell.”

“Isn’t it every girl's fantasy to be the queen someday, to find your true knight and live happily ever after?” Sandor sees her jerk at his mocking tone. She stiffens and looks back towards the keep.

“I am loyal to my betrothed Prince Joffrey. I’m quite lucky that my family has made such a fortuitous match on my behalf.” 

“Bullshit,” He sits up abruptly and the Little Bird turns to look at him. To truly look at him. “If you can look at this mess and think anything positive well… you’re smarter than that, girl.”

She looks at him and suddenly Sandor can’t bear it anymore. He stands up abruptly, letting the wineskin tumble down. He stumbles his way back to the keep and tries not to think about the fact that Sansa says nothing about his leaving. As he struggles to drunkenly open the door to his room he thinks briefly, he may be fucked having to guard these royal idiots but Sansa is truly, royally, fucked having to marry into it. 

***

Sandor avoids the Godswood for the next few weeks. He also avoids the girl. Something about the way she looks at him almost reminds him of his Eleanor but all that means is she’s one step closer to death. Girls like Eleanor… like Sansa… don’t last long in this world. He sees her sometimes during his duties shadowing Joffrey. She doesn’t acknowledge him any more than the general nod she gives to all the staff around the castle. Sandor stands tall, facing straight ahead, and doesn’t acknowledge her. 

It’s during a meeting in the small royal dining hall that Joffrey loses it. Catelyn Stark, Sansa, the Queen, the King, and Joff are all eating together as they try to plan out what will happen in two months' time when the Starks are due to return to Winterfell. Cersei is trying to delicately and subtly insist that Sansa stays in King’s Landing, going on about all the  _ opportunities _ she’ll have as a young lady at court. But the King is having none of it, he’s drunk and ranting loudly about how much he enjoyed his time as a squire alongside Lord Eddard. Blathering on about how it made him into a man all the while implying that Joffrey could use a bit of that. Sandor subtly looks at Prince Joffrey and it’s like watching a storm brewing. 

When it starts to rain, it pours. Before anyone at the table can truly realize what’s happening, Joffrey is screaming and sweeping his hands across the table and sending things flying. 

“I will NOT let you send me to that frozen, uncivilized, hellscape that is the north. I am going to be King and I DEMAND that you let me stay here.” He turns wildly to Cersei, “Mother you have to tell him this is not to be allowed. You promised I would stay here.” 

“Now, see here!” Robert is standing, pointing his pudgy little finger at the boy. 

The Stark women stand gracefully, bowing slightly to Cersei before quietly leaving. A smart move, no doubt. Sandor wouldn’t wish having to deal with this royal fuckery on his worst enemy. Well, he probably would wish it for Gregor but lord knows he’d find a way to spin it in his favour. Join in on the depravity of it all somehow. Sandor begins to tune out the yelling. All three of them are going at it now, the Kings hand is hovering at the sword on his belt. As if it’s actually seen use since the rebellion. The Prince has turned pink in the face but is standing resolutely behind his mother, hiding like the whiny brat he is. It’s Cersei who finally has the last word. 

“Enough!” She slams her wine glass on the table, not caring as the liquid sloshes out. “Joffrey will be staying here in Kings Landing where he is _safe_. Lady Sansa will stay on as our guest for the remainder of Spring and can then return to her family north before we come to fetch her for the wedding. And THAT is final.” 

Cersei grabs Joffrey by the arm and with a swish of her dress strides out of the room. Sandor follows at a reasonably close distance as she fawns and babies after Joffrey, tucking his long hair behind his ears and wiping at his face. 

“Mother I don’t want to go North.” He whines at her, all but tugging at her dress. 

“We’ll only have to go for a few short months when it’s time for your wedding. Don’t worry my darling, I’m not letting him send you away from me. I’m staying right by your side until you sit on that iron throne.” She wipes at his face one last time before pocketing her cloth. “Now, you should go off and I’ll inform those Starks what our plan is to be. Run along now my darling.” 

Sandor watched as she walked away and Joffrey set off down the hallway. He knew where the Prince was going even before he made the last turn towards the hall. The Royal suites where his younger brother Tommen would be. This was harder to just watch. Harder than all the animals he caught, tortured, and killed. This was his younger brother and although he never left any permanent damage Sandor knew all too well the mental scars this could leave on a child. No, Joffrey wasn’t as strong and powerful as Gregor, but he was as cruel. 

Sandor wasn’t able to protect Eleanor from his brother in the end, just like he isn’t able to protect Tommen from his, and Sansa… Well, Sansa is just another person he’s going to fail to protect as well. It’s only a matter of time.


	5. Sandor is 20

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Starks return home but Sansa remains at least for now.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've taken some liberties with quotes from Clash of Kings. Just as an FYI

Lady Stark begins her journey home. She takes Arya with her as she plans to stop and visit her family in Riverrun on the way North. Sandor overhears her making arrangements for Sansa’s safe travel in about a year's time. The King promises some of his men to escort her to Riverrun, where the Tullys will help her finish her voyage home. Lady Stark and Sansa both cry as they say their final goodbyes. A few tears fall while they try to stay dignified. It’s all very noble. Sandor tries hard not to roll his eyes. 

They set off and things fall into a weird sort of routine. Sansa begins going along with Cersei, learning the ins and outs of court. Sandor sees her sparingly, whenever he’s supervising their pseudo dates. Her name day is soon approaching and Sandor half listens as they begin to plan a large feast. Joffrey insists on it being a huge lavish affair even though it’s clear the thought makes Sansa uncomfortable. But still, she plays along, already the ever dutiful wife even before the ceremony has taken place. Sandor has begun to retreat to the Godswood with his wine again. Avoiding the castle like it’s his job (even though the opposite is true). She’s not there the first time he goes nor is she there the second time. And Sandor begins to settle in a little easier each time she doesn’t appear. 

One day he arrives and she’s there and this time she’s not sitting demurely on the bench. This time she’s leaning against the tree, the spot where he normally sprawls, and this time she’s the one with the wineskin in her hand. She’s already drunk by the looks of it, as she blearily looks up at him. 

“You finally came back,” She says petulantly. 

“You’re drunk.” Sandor says with a small chuckle, “Come on, let’s get you back to your cage Little Bird.”

Sandor reaches out a hand for her and Sansa bats it away. 

“It  _ is _ a cage and I don’t want to go back.” She’s all but pouting at this point and if it weren’t so concerning it would almost be cute. “I don’t want to be under the same roof as that little gremlin… let alone marry h-!”

Her voice gets louder and Sandor quickly shoves a hand over her mouth. “Talking like that is how you end up dead, girl.” He moves his hand away and grabs the wineskin from her, taking a large swig to try and finish it off. 

“It might be better…” She mutters quietly, staring at her lap. “I saw Tommen today, saw what he did. They’re both only children and…” 

She turns and looks at Sandor, grabs his arm and leans in close. “Sandor what am I going to do when he turns on me. You’ve seen more than I have, you know what he’s probably capable of.” She lets out a small sob, “Am I even going to survive this city… this marriage?”

Sandor carefully places his large hand over hers, giving her time to move away. “I’ll be there, I’ll always be there when he’s with you. That’s my job, Little Bird. And yours… well, yours is to survive.”

Sansa pulls the wineskin back from his hand, taking the last small drink. She lets out a heavy sigh. “You know, I grew up wanting a marriage like my parents… like the songs. Full of romance, love, and affection. And then I show up at Casterly Rock and I looked at the baby placed before me, and I felt nothing. How was I supposed to love this child, this infant?” 

Sandor doesn’t know what to say so he stays quiet, it’s what he’s best at. Sansa must take that as permission to continue because she goes on.

“And then I arrive in Kings Landing, and he’s still just a child but he’s handsome and he seems sweet and I almost feel like yes, yes this could work.” She hiccups, trying to drink from the wineskin again. He takes pity on her and passes her the new one at his belt. She smiles gratefully as she takes it and continues. “And then his mask starts to slip. You know what I mean… You hear the stories whispered about the castle. The animals that go missing, the weapons… and then there was that dinner where he lost his mind. And th… and then there’s today.”

Sansa leans in closer, her voice getting quieter. Probably finally realizing the danger of their chosen topic. She’s staring straight at his face and it’s almost more than Sandor can bear, but at the same time, he can’t look away. “ I watched him shoot an arrow at Tommen’s cat… I watched him slap a toddler away as he tried to rescue his poor pet. I watched…” Sansa begins to break down, openly sobbing as she leans into his shoulder. “I watched, and I did nothing.”

Sandor grips her chin and forces her to look at him once again. “Doing nothing is how you stay alive, Little Bird. There’s nothing else we can do. He is going to be King one day and you will be his Queen, and the best thing you can do is stay out of his way. That is how you make it through, that is how you survive this game.”

Sansa sniffs, the tears coming to a stop. “The Game of Thrones.”

Sandor lets go of her face abruptly. “Where did you hear that?” 

“Lord Baelish… he’s been coming around a lot since my mother returned home.” She snorts and wipes daintily at her face with a cloth. A stark contrast to the large gulp she takes from the wineskin. “He comes around and talks  _ cryptically _ as if I’m too stupid to understand what he means. He hints at what he believes my marriage will be like, as if I don’t already know what to expect.”

“I…” Sandor’s not sure how to word his thoughts. He doesn’t want to be yet another person that treats her like she’s stupid. “I don’t trust Littlefinger. His scheming is never something good to get involved with.”

“I know,” she pats his arm gently. “I have no desire to be one of his pawns.” 

Sansa takes another sip, slowing down on her consumption, before passing him back the wineskin. “Why do you let people call you a dog? At first, I thought people just called you by the Hound but it feels like more and more they all call you  _ dog _ .”

Sandor takes a large gulp, thinking briefly before responding. “Better a dog than a knight, I like them better at least. See, a hound will die for you, but never lie to you. Knights… well, all knights are good for is killing.”

“But what about True Knights, surely there are some that exist?”

Sandor laughed, “There are no  _ True Knights _ , just like there are no gods. There’s only those that die and those that survive.” 

“That sounds awful.” Sansa sighs, taking the wineskin he offers back to her once more. 

“The world’s an awful place. That’s why we have to survive. Maybe one day it won’t be this way.”

“Maybe,” The way she says it is wistful, half asleep. 

Sandor sighs as he grabs the wineskin and her hand. “Come on then, we best be returning. I’ll escort you to your room Lady Sansa.”

“Why thank you, ser Sandor.” Her voice is starting to slur and she giggles as she adds ser to his name. She handled her liquor better than he anticipated but he supposed this point was always coming. 

They walk together back to the keep, her hand tucked into his arm to help keep her balance. They don’t run into many people, the guards at the door say nothing with a glare from Sandor. He leads her wordlessly to her door, no longer feeling safe continuing their conversation. Not among these walls. When they arrive Sansa pauses to turn towards him, one hand on her door. 

“Thank you.” She says simply. 

Sandor nods brusquely and watches as she goes into her room and shuts the door. 

***

It happens again, and again, and again. Not every night by any means, but most nights find them sitting in the Godswood together. Sansa doesn’t drink much after that first night, but sometimes Sandor brings her treats from the kitchen. He learns quickly of her sweet tooth and her penchant for lemon cakes. They talk about everything and nothing all at once. Sansa tells him of Winterfell, of her siblings Robb, Arya, Bran, Rickon, and even Jon. She talks more than Sandor does but he gets in his thoughts and questions when he feels it’s appropriate. Eventually, she starts questioning him. Asking about his time at Casterly Rock and what his life was like when he first arrived at King’s Landing. At first, it’s hard to talk about but eventually, she pulls it from him piece by piece. Eventually, he’s talking about his life before Casterly Rock, with Gregor, his father, and even Eleanor. When he talks about his scars and his sister's death she openly weeps and Sandor is at a loss with how to comfort her. When he tries she laughs through the tears and ends up hugging him, hanging on longer than Sandor could have ever expected. 

Soon enough Sansa’s name day is upon them and the monstrosity of a feast that has been planned is set to take place tomorrow. He had found a stone on the beach that he had picked up and thought of her. It had broken in two and the outer half was rough and grey but the inside was a soft delicate blue that reminded him of Sansa’s eyes. He couldn’t stop himself as he took it back to his room, using the polish and sharpening stones he used for his sword to tidy it up. Make it look like something a lady would actually want. In the end, the piece was small, barely two inches long. Sandor found some thread and a small strip of leather and somehow he managed to piece them together into something that resembled a necklace. He kept it in his pocket for almost a week before finally getting the courage to give it to her. 

“I found this stone on the beach and I thought you might like it…” the words rushed out of Sandor’s mouth before he could even get the necklace from his pocket. “For your name day tomorrow.” 

Sansa stared at the stone where it laid in his hand. “Sandor… it’s beautiful. Can- Can you put it on for me? I usually have a maid to help with…” She trailed off as she nervously reached to sweep her hair to the side. She wears it down a lot, the northern style she had told him once. He finds he prefers it compared to the complicated updos the women here in the South preferred. 

His hands start to shake as he reaches towards her, looping the necklace around her delicate neck. The leather strap is long and he’s able to tie a small knot in it. It hangs down the front of her dress, resting against her teats. Sansa stares down at it, a small smile spreading across her face. 

“It’s beautiful Sandor, thank you so much for thinking of me.”

“Well, you know… half of it is at least, the blue bit. Just have to make sure that part is facing out to hide the rough grey side.” Sandor stammers sheepishly, a hand pushing at the limp hair that had fallen into his face. 

Sansa looks at him, her serious expression seemingly at war with the current topic of conversation. “No, both sides are beautiful. They’re different from each other but that doesn’t make either less beautiful. Truly Sandor, Thank you.” Sansa seems to make some kind of split-second decision and leans forward quickly. Giving him a small peck on the cheek. When she pulls back her cheeks are flushed. 

“I… We...We should be getting back to the castle. It’s late.”

Sandor nods, standing to offer her his hand. She takes it, a grateful look on her face, and they begin the familiar walk back to the castle. This time when they get to her room, Sansa turns to ask him a question.

“You’ll be at the feast tomorrow right? And the royal procession after?” Joffrey had truly wanted to make a spectacle of this day. Ordering the townspeople to gather in the city center for a speech after the feast.

“Aye of course.” Sandor offered her a small smile. “Wouldn’t miss it.” 

The smile he got in return was well worth the effort of kindness. She squeezed his arm before letting go and slipping into her room. 

***

The feast, like most of the royal gatherings as of late, is elaborate and ostentatious. Somehow the Prince manages to make his speech to Sansa be more about himself than about her. Half the people (and more than half of the royal family) are drunk as they begin their procession towards the city center. They sit on their horses in all their finery and all but prance through the townsfolk. Sandor feels on edge, years of training and experience are screaming at him that something is going to go wrong. He tried to keep an eye on both the Prince and Sansa. She’s riding behind him and Joffrey though, so Sandor only catches glimpses of her in his peripherals. He’s about to wave her up towards him, propriety be damned, when the woman steps out. She holds up her dead baby, screaming at Joffrey, and then all hell breaks loose. He yells at the other guards to get the royal family back to the keep, they turn around and are quickly being guided back. Shit and dirt is being flung from within the crowd and Sandor yells at them as he and Stranger plow through. His eyes dart from the crowd to the group of horses being led back to the castle. Among them, he sees the large body of the king, the blonde hair of Queen, the Prince, and even young Tommen. But what he doesn’t see is the flash of red hair. The other ladies are up there, she should be too damnit!

Sandor scans the crowd again, he’s about to go check double check the group that arrived back at the castle when he hears it. Sansa’s cry for help, her horse rushes by him stampeding through the crowd. He sees a flash of red before he loses her around the corner of an alley. Kicking in his heels, Sandor urges Stranger forward. It’s bloody but he gets there in time, Sansa is staring at him with unshed tears in her eyes. Her dress ripped and the necklace he gave her lying on the floor. Sandor bends down and picks it up, slowly reaching forward to tie it back on before wrapping his cloak around her shoulders. Sansa shivers as she pulls it tightly around her. He picks her up and sets her on Stranger before getting up behind her, wrapping one arm around her waist as she carefully leans back against him, her hands clutching at him. Stranger must sense his urgency because he rides quickly through the crowds back to the castle. The people seem to rush to make way for them, whether it’s the large beast he’s riding that intimidates them or the fresh blood dripping from his sword Sandor isn’t sure. They dismount and Sandor guides Sansa into the main hall looking to find a maester. Sure enough, he’s there tending to the Royal family, though Sandor hardly sees any need of it. 

Sansa sits demurely with his cloak wrapped around her like a shield, awaiting her turn with the maester. Sandor tries not to hover, not to link himself too closely with the girl lest anyone see. He follows along as the Queen sees her and guides her up to her living quarters, the Prince following along. He stands outside the room while Cersei scolds her for “wandering off”. He makes a fist at his side as he listens to Joffrey try to shift the blame from himself onto Sansa, that  _ her _ grand feast is surely what set the people off. They pick at her and tear her down until she’d reduced to some kind of quiet thing, demurely agreeing and apologizing. 

After all this, how could Sandor forget? He can protect Sansa all he wants, but he’ll never truly be able to protect her. She’ll never be safe from all of them. From… what had she called it before? Sandor thinks back for a moment. Ah… She’ll never be safe here, not from the Game of Thrones. 

***

They stop going to the Godswood. Tyrion set a curfew after the riot and the risks of their nightly meetings far outweigh any benefits. Sandor hardly sees Sansa now except for the meetings she has with Joffrey and the Queen. And Joffrey only attends those half of the time. It’s nearing time for her to return to Winterfell and Joffrey seems to be losing interest in her. When he does see Sansa he notices all the things he wishes he didn’t. How beaten down she seems, how she’s given in to Cersei and began wearing her hair “like a proper southern lady”. She follows demurely behind the Queen, agreeing with everything she says. She repeats her niceties rotely like one of those fancy birds from the southern isles. Sandor feels useless, there’s nothing he can do to help her. His small solace is in the small glimpses of a leather strand that wraps around her neck. She keeps the stone tucked away into her dress, unassuming. But Sandor sees the leather and knows what it is. 

***

When the morning comes that Sansa is leaving for Winterfell, Sandor is following behind the Prince as he goes to see her off. He’s smug and smiling as he kisses Sansa’s hand, trying his damnedest to be the type of Prince he thinks Sansa wants. A prince from the songs. She smiles gently at him in return and wishes him well until their union again. She goes to turn towards her carriage and stumbles. Sandor is there to give her a hand before he even realizes what he’s doing. 

“Thank you, Ser.” Sansa says politely, offering him a small but familiar smile. He helps as she climbs the few stairs and gets into the carriage before stepping back behind Joffrey. When Sansa looks out to Joffrey he can’t help but feel like she’s looking at him. 

“I already await our reunion in Winterfell… my Prince.” She tacks on the last part with a smile. Joffrey for his part doesn’t seem to notice, waving pretentiously at her as the carriage is pulled away before quickly retreating to the castle. His fear of being outside the keep is deeply instilled in him after the riot, though he’d never admit it. Sandor trails behind him, his mind already wandering back to Sansa. He’d see her again eventually, as long as he stayed part of the Prince’s guard he’d have to be included in the retinue that accompanies them to Winterfell. That just means he’d have to stay alive long enough. Long enough to at least see her one last time. 


	6. Sandor is 22

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sandor arrives in the North

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I took some loosey-goosey quotes from storm of swords

Even in the peak of summer, the North is still colder than Sandor would like. The past two years have been mostly spent following along after Prince Joffrey as he sunk further and further into depravity. Moving on from animals and his younger siblings onto the servants and even some girls snuck into the castle exclusively for him. He takes after his father in that one way at least. Sandor stands outside his room each time, listening and waiting to bring them to the maester. Knowing that one day he’ll be doing the same for Sansa. The remainder of Sandor’s time is spent drinking. He never ends up going back to the street of silk, and he never ends up drinking in the Godswood. Instead, he brings his wineskin back to his room, lies on his bed and stares at the stone he hides under his pillow. The other half of the stone he gave to Sansa, one side jagged and grey, the other side a smooth gentle blue. He never told her he had a piece as well, but that was probably for the better. 

Sandor has his helm on, the hound riding into this faux battle as they approach the Stark family awaiting them at the gates of Winterfell. The townspeople line the sides of the building, hoping to catch a glimpse of the King. The royal carriage comes to a stop and the coachmen go to assist the family in getting out. King Robert comes first, followed by Queen Cersei and young Princess Myrcella. Prince Joffrey and Prince Tommen have been riding their horses for the past hour after their last stop when Queen Cersei insisted they ride in like proper men. A not so subtle jab at the King. They all dismount and Sandor removes his helm, holding it at his side as he scans the crowd. He looks out at the townsfolk first, trying to assess if there are any risks before his eyes move over to the Starks. Lord Eddard looks older than he remembers, though it has been many years since he’s seen him. Her siblings look as Sansa described them, more than half of them full of piss and vinegar. Among them all, Sansa stands tall next to her Lady mother. She’s wearing her hair down again, soft waves falling against her grey cloak. She looks strong, she looks happy. Even as she’s greeting everyone she makes eye contact with him and smiles hugely, a risk no doubt though none seem to notice. Sandor for his part tries to remain inconspicuous, for all a man his size can, as he follows along behind the prince. Sansa takes over leading Joffrey around Winterfell, giving him a private tour of her home. She still spouts the niceties her septa taught her but she’s strong with her voice. When she brings them to the Godswood and speaks of the hot spring she gracefully brushes past Joffrey’s crude remarks over the smell. 

When Joffrey has turned in for the night and Meryn has taken over outside his door. Sandor traces the path back to the Godswood. He’s not sure what he’s expecting to find but he knows he has to try. The nights seem darker in the north and Sandor almost stumbles over branches a few times but he eventually finds himself at the Godswood, the heart tree looming over him tall and strong. She’s not there, not that he had expected her to be. It has been more than two years since they had last gotten together to talk. Still, Sandor finds himself disappointed. He slumps down to the ground, ignoring the chill of the earth, as he looks around the woods. To his right, he starts to notice the steam rising through the air from what must be the hot springs. He’s debating going to look at it when he hears it, her voice. This time it’s not the scream he still hears in his dreams, no, this time it’s a song. Sandor rises quickly and walks towards the sound of her voice, following the sirens call. The closer he gets the more he’s able to make out the words. It’s the Mother’s Hymn. She finishes up the last line as he steps out into the small clearing, she’s lounging next to the spring, her hand sending little ripples into the water. 

“Hello, Sandor.” She smiles so sweetly at him that he’s at a loss for words. “It’s good to see you once again.” 

Sandor lowers himself to the ground and sits next to her. “I- It’s good to see you as well… Lady Stark.” 

She seems to smirk at his formalities. Leaning into his shoulder she nudges him, “Look.”

Across the pond he sees a large beast sleeping peacefully, it’s like a wolf only three times as large. 

“Her name is Lady, she’s a direwolf. My brothers found a litter of them in the woods, one for each of us. She’s been my protector since I’ve been home.”  _ Since I’ve been away from you _ , Sandor reads between the lines as he stares at the large beast. Surprised he hadn’t noticed it when he approached, though his attention had been otherwise occupied. 

“Did Stranger come north with you?” She asks curiously, either not picking up on Sandor’s awkwardness or ignoring it. Sandor’s betting on the latter. 

“He did. Though he doesn’t seem to be very fond of the cold.” Sandor remembers the poor boy who tried to saddle Stranger one particularly cold day and how he almost lost a finger for it. 

Sansa laughs, the sound ringing clear and true in the open space. “It’s hardly cold here, it is summer after all.” 

“Aye, but it’s colder than I’d like it as well. When you’ve lived your whole life in the South the change can be difficult.” 

There’s a lull in the conversation as Sansa seems to be thinking. She looks up at him suddenly.

“If you could live anywhere, where would you live?”

Sandor thinks for a moment, not sure if she’s looking for an honest answer. He decides to give her one anyway. Why try to change himself now after all this time. “The Free Cities probably. The weather is warm enough,” he chuckles as she rolls her eyes. “And your family name matters less than your skills. You’re valued for what you can do, not who your father is or what battles he won. A man could be free there.”

“You, you could be free there?” Sansa asks, the question not quite clear but Sandor understands her nonetheless.

“Even a dog gets tired of being kicked after awhile. Would rather be hungry and free than full with a cruel master.”

Sansa nods as if she understands. “I won’t say I’m sad to see you, because I’m not, but I am surprised you’re still with him. Knowing all he’s done, all he’s capable of. I can’t imagine him getting any better as he got older.” 

Sandor shakes his head, “He hasn’t, you’re not wrong Little Bird. But I said we’d survive to see if it got any better and I can’t very well do that with you if I’m on the other side of the Narrow Sea.” 

“So we’ll survive together, is that the plan Sandor?” Sansa grins as she stands, kicking off her shoes. She motions for him to turn around and he does without question. He hears the flutter of fabric hitting the ground for a moment before a gentle splash of water tickles against his arm.

“Okay, you can turn back around again.” She’s in the water, her dress lying discarded on the ground. She’s up to her neck in the cloudy water but Sandor can see her bare shoulders above the water and that familiar strip of leather wrapped around her neck. His own rock a familiar weight in his pocket. “Are you going to join me?” 

Sandor knows he shouldn’t take it for a serious question. Just like he knows he should say no regardless. But he finds his hands moving without thought, stripping down to his smallclothes and walking into the water. He does manage to keep a respectful distance between the two of them. Hoping the girls beast would warn them of anyone approaching. 

“I think I’d like the Free Cities,” Sansa says eventually. “I know from my studies there are some places best avoided, but even just the name sounds so liberating. The  _ Free _ Cities. Free to be who I want to be, free to live the way I want to. Not have to worry about family politics and arranged marriages.” 

“Are you thinking of running, Little Bird?”

“Why,” Sansa swims closer to him. Not quite touching him but treading water close enough that he could reach for her if he wanted. “Would you run with me?”

“There’s no point in me surviving if you’re not around, Sansa.”

“Good.” Sansa splashes the water in front of him, before swimming back away. Her pale arms and sleek back cutting a path through the calm waters. 

They swim like that awhile longer, Sandor loses track of time. The catch up on all that has happened to them in their time apart. Eventually, Lady makes a noise as she wakes up and Sansa says they should probably be heading back. She stands behind lady as she dresses though she does not attempt to hide how she watches Sandor. He offers her his arm but she takes his hand instead. Sandor smiles at the ground, his hair hanging down to cover his face. Sansa lets go as they approach the gate and he can still feel her warmth seeping into his skin. They separate without a word, Sandor not able to walk her to her room in a castle filled with Northerners. Something that would raise more questions than they were both willing to deal with. Sandor makes it back to his room and sits on his bed, rubbing absently at the rock in his pocket. 

***

The next few days are filled with the pomp and circumstance of ceremonies. Getting the Castle ready for the small wedding ceremony to take place here before Sansa returned with the Royal family to King’s Landing where they would marry again in the Great Sept of Baelor. Sandor didn’t see Sansa in the Godswood again but he did see her as she walked around the castle, directing supplies and speaking kindly to the townsfolk. She had a smile for everyone, even Sandor the times she noticed him watching. Part of him wanted to believe that the smiles for him were more honest, truer. Part of him also wanted to believe that their night in the godswood meant something, that she wanted to be with him. Be it in the Free Cities or the Seven Kingdoms. Sandor knew at this point that wherever she would go he would follow. He may not be able to protect her always, but he was going to try his damnedest. 

The night before the ceremony was due to take place, Sandor had found solace hiding away in the stables. Brushing Stranger down after a long ride around the countryside. Stranger heard it first, snorting and stomping as the beast snuck in through the side. Lady had found them in and seemed to be staring him down. Somehow Sandor had the feeling that he was supposed to follow. He shut the gate on Stranger, whispering a soft promise to return later that evening to finish. All he got in return was a bite on his hand, but it was soft and more of a gentle reminder than anything else. Sandor chuckled as he gave Stranger one last pat before he followed the direwolf out of the stables. 

They kept to the shadows but Sandor could easily tell their destination after a few minutes, the Godswood. Her back was to him as she knelt before the heart tree. Sandor stood back quietly, letting her finish her prayers. Next to her feet were two large packs meant to fit over a horse. Her Stark grey cloak had been replaced with a black one. Sandor’s stomach twisted as he thought about her wearing his own house colours, though he’s sure it wasn’t purposeful. 

Eventually, she turns around to look at him. “You didn’t bring Stranger, we’ll have to get him on the way out.”

“The way out? Where are we heading, my lady?”

Sansa approaches him, her hand reaching out to rest on his chest as she looks up at him. Sometimes Sandor forgets just how tall she is, only one head shorter than himself. “Why anywhere and everywhere of course!” She pauses and smiles up at him, “Though we should probably start with somewhere overseas first, at least until all the drama dies down.” 

Sandor smiles back, he can’t help himself with her sometimes. “Overseas then, I see you’ve thought of everything. How are we getting across then, Little Bird?”

“I’ve secured us passage in White Harbor. An old family friend willing to let the two of us, Lady, and Stranger join them on their passage to Braavos. And from there… Well, I thought we could figure that out together.” She pauses, her smile faltering for a moment, “You’re still coming with me, aren’t you Sandor?”

“Aye, Little Bird. Remember, there’s no point in me surviving without you around.” Sandor smiled, carefully placing an arm around her waist to hold Sansa close. “Besides, who else would keep you out of trouble over there? Lady?”

Sansa smiled, laughing. He loved the sound of her laugh. From now on every time he dreamt of her cry for help he wanted to replace it with this moment. Holding Sansa against his chest as she laughed, wild and free. 

“Then let’s go already. I’ve got trouble to get into apparently.”

***

Together they quickly, and quietly, got Stranger. Sansa sat in front of him, leaning back against his chest as they rode away from Winterfell. The sun began to rise behind them, shining brightly behind the castle as it shrank into the distance. They’d have to be careful for the next few days, to make sure they make it safely to White Harbor, but Sandor can’t find it in himself to worry. Sansa is surprisingly well prepared and Sandor… Well, Sandor is happy.


End file.
